


The Cult of Dionysus

by DeadNation666, hyperionmade



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bottom Rhys (Borderlands), Cock Warming, Collars, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cults, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, God Complex, Gunplay, Handholding, Handsome Jack (Borderlands) Being an Asshole, Hero Worship, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgy, Sadism, Shibari, Smoking, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Top Timothy Lawrence, agalmatophilia, sex with statues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadNation666/pseuds/DeadNation666, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperionmade/pseuds/hyperionmade
Summary: It was probably a bad idea. Still, bad ideas were what Rhys did best. There were all kinds of crazy rumours about the parties that Handsome Jack threw, so he’d stolen Vasquez’s invite. Really, he was just hoping for an excuse to meet his hero.Once he actually got to the party, however, he realized he was way in over his head.Or; When Rhys is caught red handed at a party he shouldn't be at, Jack and Tim decide to take care of him.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Timothy Lawrence/Rhys
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	The Cult of Dionysus

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags, there's a lot going on here  
>   
> (yes, the handholding scene _is_ the most scandelous thing in this fic)  
>   
> with that said, enjoy! -hyperionmade

Rhys had never been to Dionysus before. All he really knew of it was that it was “that party planet” where the universe’s premier wines were produced. What little of it he had seen so far was beautiful. Lush, rolling hills, vineyards, dense, eerie forests, and an absolutely crowded nude beach overlooked by marble cliffs crowned with sprawling violet-leaved trees and massive crimson flower-ferns that poured over the edge like so much spilled wine. To be fair, the ride from the shuttleport to Jack’s secluded estate wasn’t gonna be anywhere near the seedy parts of the area, but Rhys always enjoyed seeing scenery that wasn’t just Helios. It was a nice breath of fresh air.

The mansion gardens were unlike anything Rhys had ever seen before. There was an array of exotic plants growing. In the middle stood a large fountain with a black granite statue of Jack in the centre, wine flowing across its nude body from an amphora. A goddamn wine fountain. At least, it was wine-coloured. Surely it couldn’t be _actual_ wine? Bad weather would ruin it in seconds! Best not to think too hard about it, Rhys decided, continuing his walk towards the party. His anticipation brimmed as he passed by otherworldly flowers spilling over carved stone planters, statues of satyrs and athletes, and shapely dancing women, all with Jack’s face on them. It was all rather bizarre, familiar but at the same time outlandish. Everywhere he looked, he saw Jack’s face in something.

In front of the towering front doors, story-tall purple wooden pieces, each set with two nearly identical mirror-glass mosaics of Jack, stood two LOADER-Bots and a bouncer in a smart black suit and a glossy black Handsome Jack mask. Rhys tried to put on an air of confidence as he handed the guard his invitation. Well, his _now_ , since Vasquez didn’t like to change his passwords. Idiot. The guard, who was at least twice as wide as Rhys at the shoulder, scrutinized it, visibly squinting at Rhys beneath his mask, looking him up and down, then looking at the invitation again. Rhys's heart pounded in his chest as the tension grew, but the guard eventually sighed and opened the door. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”

Rhys began to walk through the mansion, cautiously watching his step. This place was worth more than his entire life, it felt like one small misstep could cause something to break. Everything about it screamed “Handsome Jack is the richest man in the galaxy.” Velvet ropes blocked off certain doorways, while signs pointed the way to the ballroom. He admired the decor. Paintings of Jack, tapestries of Jack, little dainty plinths holding statues of Jack. Most of which were all… at the very least revealing, clearly power fantasies, or sexually tense, if not outright, purposeful eye candy. Rhys ate it all up, taking his time as a couple of other guests bustled past him, too quickly to get a good look at their masks. He could always look at them later.

Finally, Rhys approached another pair of story-high doors, each one prominently decorated with a gilded likeness of Jack’s face, flanked on one side by an amazonian woman taller than Rhys, clad in a floor-length black velvet evening dress and a Handsome Jack mask, and on the other by a modelesque man in a tailored suit with no shirt underneath, also wearing a Handsome Jack mask. Before Rhys could really start to wrap his head around how weird it was that the house staff were all wearing Jack masks, they nodded at him in unison and opened the doors. Inside, things would only get stranger.

The ballroom was massive. Two stories high, with windows nearly to the ceiling, draped over with blackout curtains, drenching the room in darkness punctuated only by highly realistic artificial candlelight. The walls were decorated with yet more huge paintings of Jack, the excuse of “artistic nudity” with which one could have explained the portraits in the hallway tossed aside completely. These were 10-foot tall renaissance-realist frescoes of downright, unquestionable pornography. There were at least a dozen life-sized, nude, gold-plated metal statues dedicated to Jack standing around the room, their beautiful, masculine forms catching what little light was present with dazzling grace. Everyone in the room was also wearing Handsome Jack masks, from the tiny, dainty cocktail waitresses in short black dresses, or just in narrow legged trousers or pencil skirts, whose masks were the apparent staff-uniform glossy black, to someone Rhys immediately recognized as Wilhelm, whose mask looked like if Jack was a Terminator who has lost his face skin, to the very tall lady standing nearest Rhys with a streak of white in her hair, whose silver-and-white masquerade-style Jack mask looked like it was encrusted with crystals of unmelting ice. Actually, most of the partygoers had very expensive-looking masquerade-style Jack masks. Rhys felt a little dumb in his cheap plastic one. He’d thought it would be funny to show up to Jack’s party in a Jack mask, but now it felt… different.

This was not the kind of party Rhys expected. There was something rather disconcerting about the atmosphere. The masks, the decor, the relative uniformity of everyone’s cadence, their unquestioning loyalty, generally speaking. It was like these people worshipped Jack, almost as if he were a God. In fairness, he _was_ the most powerful man in the universe. Rhys certainly looked up to his idol. This? This was different, though. Maybe. Probably, right? Rhys shook his head. Something about the whole thing felt… decidedly off. Could this be a cult dedicated to Jack? Something about that concept intrigued Rhys, tugged at him inside. Was it curiosity? Discomfort? Arousal? He wasn’t sure.

Looking around, there was a lot to take in. A _lot._ Various people were performing different sexual acts with no shame at all, while others milled about sipping wine and cocktails. A rather intimidating woman in a leather underbust corset, cowgirl hat, and very tall thigh high latex heels walked around, bearing a strap on and a riding crop. This definitely wasn’t the kind of party Rhys had in mind.  
  
He’d walked into an orgy. There was no other word for it.

Rhys looked around in fascination. He’d never even thought about going to a sex party, but if Jack was gonna be here, he was more than down. 

It didn’t take long for Jack to notice the new member of his party. He stood out like a sore thumb. Where everyone else wore a mixture of bondage gear and evening wear with expensive masks, the scrawny young man that seemed to have weaseled his way in was only in business casual, and the mask he wore looked like it couldn’t’ve cost more than five dollars. He didn’t belong here. Jack was a rather paranoid man by nature. Was this a spy trying, albeit failing, to blend in with the crowd? An assassin, perhaps? There was no way in hell he was letting this twink out of his sights. Jack signalled his staff to… keep an eye on him. Make sure he feels taken care of, and all that.

As Rhys wandered around, wide-eyed at all the debauchery and decadence, he was offered a glass of wine by a waitress, which he accepted with a smile. The wine was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before, and it certainly took the edge off some of his nerves about whatever the hell he'd just walked into. 

It seemed like every time Rhys even had an inkling of wanting something to drink, there was a black-mask-clad servant offering him a glass of something or other. Bubbly or still, amethystine to blood red to rosy pink to wheat gold, it all went down like fruit juice, and he always had been a lightweight. Soon, he was decently tipsy. With his inhibitions lowered, he was much more confident, striding around like he belonged there, dammit, no longer paranoid about standing out in the crowd. He found himself quite horny now, too. All the erotica of his idol, of whom he more than regularly had his own lewd fantasies, was really working him up. After just the slightest bit of snooping for a bathroom or a closet or someplace to jack off to his Jack thoughts, he stumbled upon a backroom. From what he could tell, the room was empty. It was silent, at least. Nobody would notice if he quietly slunk off to masturbate, right? Right. He hacked the security on the door almost effortlessly, letting himself inside.

The sight inside stopped him in his tracks.

Standing tall in the room was another golden, life-size statue of Jack with an erect, impressive-looking penis. A few incredibly expensive-looking chaises stuck up like islands in a sea of pillows and poufs in the dimly-lit room and a table with no more than a bottle of lube, a bucket of champagne, and a pristine gilded ashtray stood near the back next to one of the chaises. Of course, the statue was the main event. Rhys stared at it, dumbfounded. It was almost uncanny how accurately it represented Jack. Perfectly life-sized, ideally posed for a good time... Rhys stuck his hand down his pants, giving a few mindless strokes to his cock, his mind beginning to wander at the inanimate semblance of his hero.

He had an idea.

Grabbing the bottle of lube, he slathered a bit on his flesh hand and yanked his trousers and briefs down with his robot arm, haphazardly kicking his pant legs and boots off, wobbling on his stilt-like legs in his tipsy state. He traced the rim of his hole before pushing a finger inside with a groan, gradually working himself open. After a while, he added a second finger, moaning as he stretched himself, picturing Jack’s hand in place of his own. 

Once he felt adequately prepared, or at least horny enough not to care, Rhys approached the statue, eyeing it up. God, it was beautiful. Maybe he wouldn’t meet Jack tonight, but this would be a nice compromise. He pressed his chest against the statue, caressing his hands up the side, his thumbs tracing across the impossibly perfect definition of the statue’s metallic muscles. He pressed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against the statue’s cold, golden lips, feeling a shiver down his spine. Just _imagine_ how plush and kissable they’d be in the flesh... Rhys wrapped his arms around the statue’s narrow waist, pulling himself closer. Close enough to slot the metal idol’s dick between his thighs and nestle it beneath his cheeks. He pretended to tease the statue, pouring more lube onto its big, cold, unforgiving dick and grinding down on it, pressing his own cock against its literally chiselled abs as he leaned into it, giving it a big two-handed lustful embrace.

“Handsome Jack, sir…” he whispered lewdly. He teased his hole against the statue’s dick, rolling his hips. _Fuck._ “My hero…” he moaned, pushing himself down.

Rhys groaned as the statues dick filled him up, eyes fluttering shut momentarily. It was probably way too firm for its size, though he wasn’t going to back down now. He was so worked up. He started undoing his shirt, then thought better of it halfway down. Statues weren’t warm like the real thing, it’d mess with his immersion. He steadied into a slow pace of riding the statue, whimpering when he felt it hit his prostate. “Jack…” he moaned, voice heavy with lust as he fucked the statue. “Jack…”

As he fucked the statue, eyes usually lidded, his fantasy blossomed. The gorgeous metal body beneath his fingers, against his chest, between his arms, inside his body, it was all Jack’s in his head. He muttered sweet nothings desperately between littering kisses over Jack’s golden face, up his jaw, down his neck. He slid down the statue’s unrelentingly solid and brutally thick length, begging his imaginary hero to ruin him. More. He needed more. Rhys sped up the pace of his riding, grabbing at the statue’s powerful shoulders with need. 

Rhys worked himself further and further down, his pace growing more and more frantic and desperate as he began to feel himself approach orgasm. He leaned his face into the metallic Jack’s shoulder, so close he could nearly feel it, but instead of feeling himself cum, he felt the floor slip out from under his feet as he and his improvised lover toppled into a pile of pillows with a loud _thud_. Rhys yelped, quickly removing himself from its cock. Shit, shit, shit, this is bad, this is really bad. Did it break? Did that chaise break? If he broke anything here, he was as good as dead. Being killed was _not_ how he wanted to meet Jack! He examined the statue and the chaise. Everything appeared to be normal. No cracks, no dents, no visible damage.

Thank fuck for that.

He nervously looked around. It was okay. He was okay. Exhaling, Rhys repositioned his ass over the statue’s dick and continued riding it.

Unbeknownst to Rhys, his little slip up was heard. Tim, who had been hiding out in an adjacent backroom, had nearly jumped through the ceiling when he heard what he was worried was something violent. He made his way to the corridor, poking his head around the door. He punched in the security code to the room--which wasn’t supposed to be used until like 8:30 and froze at what he saw. A young, slender man absolutely going to town on the statue of Handsome Jack. Like, cheeks on the statue’s thighs. He’d knocked the damn thing over, too. He should go and tell Jack all about this intrusion, in exacting detail, probably, yet he stood, transfixed by the sight playing out before him. Probably useful to uhh, soak up the details a bit, right?

Rhys was far, far too distracted to notice he had company. His attention, and indeed his lips, hands, ass, everything, were all over the statue, a mess of panting and moaning as he fucked himself on it. 

“Jack-- ah-- fuck, Jack…”

Tim gently closed the door, careful not to let it make a sound. He stood there, transfixed at the shape and rhythm of the interloper as he fucked himself on the life-sized statue of Jack. The statue that so resembled himself. He watched as the mysterious intruder leaned down to touch the statue’s gold-plated chest, moaning Jack’s name-- The name Tim so often was called-- as his shiny robotic fingers traced lovingly down the statue’s side.

Shutting his eyes, Tim reached a hand down his pants and slowly began jerking himself off. At that moment, he wasn’t Timothy Lawrence. He was Jack. That was the name that had been given to him for a while. Or maybe the statue was him? Whatever. He could at least pretend that he was the one being worshipped, even if it wasn’t true, even if it was all fake. It was conflicting. Tim wasn’t Handsome Jack. This wasn’t about him. But he wanted it to be.

He shook his head, telling himself to relax and just enjoy the show playing out before him. Tim jerked himself off at the sight of the stranger fucking the statue, biting his bottom lip. The man kept moaning Jack’s name, kept calling him his _hero._ Clearly, he worshipped Jack, maybe even more than the sycophants fucking around-- literally-- in the ballroom outside. He was risking a hell of a lot by doing this. Tim couldn’t help but admire his dedication, not to mention how good he looked and sounded. He wanted so desperately for the praises to be about him, that he could just about convince himself that they were. 

After a while of masturbating to the lewd scene before him, Tim came, covering his mouth to muffle his own moans. Right. He was supposed to tell Jack about this, wasn’t he? Tim took a few moments to steady his breathing and compose himself, before heading off to find Jack.

Just as Rhys was approaching his orgasm for the second time, the door suddenly opened. Shit, shit, this is bad! Rhys suddenly scrambled off the statue to see none other than Handsome Jack enter the room and… Jack again? They were both shirtless, which was nice. Rhys blinked. Two Jacks. There's two Jacks. Jesus. How much did he drink? Was he really seeing double right now? No, there are definitely two people in the room. Jack had body doubles, right? Wordlessly, Jack took a seat on a nearby chaise, Tim lurking not far behind. Rhys couldn’t tell if he was fucked or was about to get fucked.

"There's two of you," Rhys muttered awkwardly.

"Good observation, dum-dum,” one of them said. The real Jack? 

“Yup, double trouble, baby, ” the other added. 

Okay, this is definitely weird. 

“W-what’s going on right now?” Rhys stammered. 

“Relax, kiddo. We won’t hurt you. Not if you cooperate.” Jack commented coolly.

“Well, what do you want?” Rhys asked, somewhat wide-eyed, still embarrassed about being caught in the act.

“We just have a couple of questions for you,” Tim explained.

“See, here’s the thing, pumpkin. You don’t belong here. I don’t mean to condescend, but this is a very exclusive, invite-only event. I’ve never seen you here before and I think I’d remember those incredible legs you’ve got there. Do you mind explaining yourself, babe? You better tell the truth.”

There was no way to make himself look good here. They’d literally walked in on him still on the statue. Surely they knew what they saw? 

“I-I uh-”

“C’mon, pumpkin, there’s gotta be a reason why you’re here, right?” Jack nonchalantly pulled a cigarette from a carbon-fiber case, the golden Hyperion H emblazoned on it glinting in the dim light. Like clockwork, Tim lit it for him, and Jack eased into the throne-like chaise, cool as anything. “Spit it out, babe. Espionage? Voyeurism? Assassination? Tell me you’re here for that Maliwan prick.”

“He didn’t have any weapons on him, Jack.” Tim cut in. “Just this.” He brandished Rhys's trousers, and--

“HAHAHA! Oh, man, are you for real? Handsome Jack underoos? You’re alright, kid. Least we know he’s got a sense of humor, coming to MY sex party with MY face on his cock an’ balls. Now I’m _really_ curious why you’re here.”

“I, uh, I-- uhhh...”

“Today, princess.”

“I wanted to see you. M-meet you, maybe.” Rhys confessed, looking down at the floor.

“Eyes up here, babe,” Jack said, more gently than commandingly. “Is that really the only reason why? Nothing else? No ulterior motives?”

Rhys spluttered. “N-no, not really, uh, I mean I guess--” Rhys stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with Jack. “I-I have a pretty bad crush on you…”

Jack took a long, deep drag on his cigarette, a very, very smug grin spreading across his face as he leaned back, cocking an eyebrow at Rhys. “Then prove it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Suck his dick.”

Rhys paused, stunned at his oddly good fortune. Jack took this as hesitation. 

“You got cum in your ears, sneaky cheeks?” Suck my body double off. I don’t exactly believe you aren’t here to whack me, so prove it.”

Rhys shrugged, a goofy smirk spreading across his hidden face, and got on his knees.  
  
Without the slightest notion of hesitation, Rhys pulled the cheap plastic Jack mask from his face. Jack’s eyebrows raised, he was surprised someone would so easily shed their anonymity at this sort of function, even at his behest. He always did like ‘em sycophantic, though, so it wasn’t exactly a turn-off. Plus, he was way prettier than Jack had expected. Pretty lips, good cheekbones, he even had a pretty fancy ECHO-Eye. Heterochromatic eyes. Jack really liked that. Rhys wasted only a nominal amount of time teasing Tim through his slacks, mouthing at his bulge through the luxuriant fabric as he eagerly undid the fastenings. Once Tim’s cock was free, Rhys wasted no time in beginning to tease him with his tongue, causing the double to groan softly.

“While we’re making sure you’re really here for the right reasons, here’s a little ah,” Jack produced a pistol from a holster on his side and tossed it to Tim. “Additional incentive to behave.” Jack practically purred the last bit. Rhys should have been scared. This was getting dangerous, but he couldn’t help feeling even more turned on. Like, way more turned on. Even more so when he felt Tim press the cold barrel against his forehead. He caught himself moaning completely involuntarily at the thrill of it, his tongue vibrating against Tim’s length. Probably best not to tell him the safety was on.

Rhys looked up with a hum. “Is it loaded?” he asked, voice soft, but breathy, lust-laden.

“Of course it is. I’m not a freaking idiot. Now, be a good boy and suck my double off already.”

Not wasting any more time, Rhys wrapped his flesh hand around the base of Tim’s cock, giving it a few experimental pumps before taking the tip in his mouth, sucking gently. Tim moaned, throwing his head back as Rhys got to work sucking him off. Satisfied with Tim’s reactions, rather more bashful than he’d expect of Jack himself, but sufficiently beguiled by Rhys's enthusiasm, he began taking more of Tim’s length, bobbing his head slightly. It was thrilling, sucking Tim off with a gun pressed against his head. Jack watched the vulgar scene before him with keen interest, taking a puff of his cigarette. This was certainly a sight to behold. 

Rhys's headspace was skewed. He didn’t know who Timothy Lawrence was. As far as he was concerned, right now, there were two Jacks in the room, and that worked just fine for him. He was in heaven, truly. He looked up at Tim, taking in every detail of his body. It would be a carbon copy of Jack’s, but for a handful of extra scars. Narrow waist, well-defined pecs, just the right amount of fuzz on the chest and leading down to where Rhys was hard at work.

“Goddamn, kitten,” Jack chuckled. “That’s a good look for you.”  
  
Cheeks flushed, Rhys continued his work, Tim’s cock felt incredible in his mouth and he was so damn eager to please, he wanted to please _both_ of them.

“You talkin’ about me or him?” Tim quipped.

“Yes.” Jack snarked.

Rhys continued at the steady pace he’d set, most of Tim’s cock in his mouth by now. Occasionally, he teased with his tongue, earning a mixture of soft grunts and moans from Tim. He was determined to do a good job, and it certainly sounded like he was. Jack put his cigarette out on the engraved ashtray sitting on the table, still fixated on the scene playing out before him, arousal growing. 

Taking him the rest of the way, Tim’s cock bulged at the back of Rhys's throat. Jack bit his bottom lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. Yeah, this was about the hottest thing he’d seen in a while. Some nameless twink who sort of resembled himself in a certain way sucking off his body double with the enthusiasm of a skag given a ribeye steak. Hell yes.

Realising he’d gone a little too far, Rhys gagged slightly, pulling his mouth back some. Too stubborn for his own good, Rhys found himself trying again after a few seconds, only to gag harder and need to retract his mouth entirely, coughing. Nope, Tim was too big, that wasn’t happening, clearly. 

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, genuinely concerned.

“Y-yeah! Yeah! All good!” Rhys lied, coughing more. After hacking his lungs up for a few more seconds, he took Tim back in his mouth, face red. He was tearing up slightly, doing his best to carry on. He didn’t care about the pain, he was too starstruck, he _had_ to do well, he had to! There was no other option here. Never mind the gun. Really, it just made it hotter to him.

Rhys continued working, though didn’t yet try going all the way again. He made himself at home down there, his hands running curiously down the sides of Tim’s trim waist, tracing between his abs, cupping his firm, beefy asscheeks with an inquisitive squeeze. He sucked Tim off at the same steady pace he was working earlier, his tongue and lips picking up the slack that the back of his throat couldn’t as well carry, soon feeling Tim’s cock twitch in his mouth.

Reaching his limit, Tim came down Rhys's throat with a loud moan. Rhys eagerly swallowed everything before pulling his mouth away, eyes sparkling up at the body double. Tim exhaled, riding out the afterglow of his orgasm. “Wow…” he muttered.

“Good job, kitten!” Jack praised, his gaze transfixed on the sheer amount of cock that Rhys had managed to clear-coat with that pretty little throat of his. He watched with pointed fascination, hand tucked discreetly in his pants, teasingly stroking his rock-solid piece as Rhys licked his lips somewhat clean, his eyes darting between Tim's cock and the gun pointed at his head.  
Without much warning, and to everyone’s surprise, Rhys turned his mouth to touch the pistol and took the barrel into his spit-glossed lips, sucking it off with the same gusto and eagerness he’d had for Tim’s cock, diligently hollowing his cheeks and making side-eyed contact with Jack. The body double blinked, somewhat shocked at the sight that was playing out before him. He glanced to make sure the safety was on, moving his fingers as far from the trigger as he could. Jack, however, smirked deviously, his concealed cock twitching eagerly against his fingers. 

“Wow. You’re into some real kinky shit, huh, princess?” Jack said, failing to hide his astonishment beneath an arousal too overwhelming to bother suppressing.

Rhys's only response was continued intense bedroom eyes in Jack’s direction. He sucked on the gun for a little while longer, cheeks dusted with blush.

“Alright, kitten, let’s not try and make that thing go off in your mouth too, shall we?” Jack said teasingly, rising from his seat and clapping Rhys on the shoulder. “Get up.” Rhys made sure to drive his point home by pulling himself away from the gun with a satisfying-sounding _pop_ , letting a single strand of glossy throat-slick linger between his lips and the barrel for a moment as he continued to look up, doe-eyed, at Jack. Jack smirked and offered Rhys a hand up. Rhys took it eagerly, letting Jack's big, powerful hand envelop his own, which trembled with nerves and excitement. Now they were standing face to face, hand in hand. Rhys's head was spinning, though he felt like he’d sobered up completely sometime between the statue sex and the whole ‘sucking Jack’s body double off at gunpoint’ thing. Holding hands with Handsome Jack? This was almost too much to handle. Rhys gazed into Jack’s piercing eyes for what felt like an eternity before his voice cut the tension.

“Strip for me,” Jack commanded, matter-of-factly.

Eagerly, Rhys began to strip the clothes he still had on, quickly dropping his vest and dress shirt to the ground, his lithe, pale body now pretty much fully exposed but for one thing. Jack looked down, noting the Handsome-Jack-patterned socks held up by a pair of simple black sock garters. Huh. He hadn’t noticed that earlier.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Jack chuckled, staring down at his feet.

“The socks stay on,” Rhys insisted, half-joking.

“Whatever you say, cupcake.” Jack clearly looked far too amused.

"You want me to suck you off too, right?" Rhys asked, gazing at Jack thirstily. 

"Obviously. On your knees, kitten.”

Rhys was quick to obey, falling to his knees for Jack. The entire situation was still dizzying. He’d just sucked Jack’s body double off, now he was going to do the same to _Handsome Jack_ _himself_. He guessed he’d better make a good impression, then. He carefully moved his hands to undo Jack’s slacks and free his cock, gazing at it greedily. The experience with Tim had taught him he definitely wouldn’t be able to take the whole thing at once. Still, he could give it the old college try. At least, that’s what Rhys assumed everyone else got up to in college, too, right?

“Like what ya see, huh? Stop gawking and get to work, pumpkin.”

Desperately wanting to stay on Jack’s good side, Rhys took the tip of the cock in his mouth. Jack sighed impatiently, staring down at Rhys as he traced circles around Jack’s tip with his tongue.

“C’mon, I know you can take more than that. I saw the way you lapped up Timtam’s cock like a goddamn popsicle,” Jack huffed, pulling Rhys's head a little further down his length, gripping his gelled hair firmly. Rhys let out a muffled squeak as he was forced to take more, looking up at Jack with confused puppy dog eyes. With most of Jack’s length now in his mouth, the CEO gave a satisfied smirk. “That’s better. You just hold it there for me, m’kay pumpkin? It’s pretty big, huh? C’mon, show your hero how much you adore him.”

All Rhys could think to do was nod. He’d been expecting to give Jack a proper blowjob, to service him like he deserved, but he supposed this worked too.

“Good boy,” Jack hummed, “You just be a good little cockwarmer for me for a minute.”

Rhys swallowed around Jack’s cock, keeping it in place. Jack smirked, entirely satisfied. Rhys was a goddamn dream. Sure, he often found fun little things to play with when he threw these parties, but Rhys was something else entirely. From the moment he’d seen the clearly lost or confused twink blow into the joint like a dorky tumbleweed, to catching him fucking his statue, to sucking Tim off so enthusiastically and now this? Yeah. He was special. Definitely a fanboy of his, but that only made it all the more rewarding. Jack loved fucking his fans, they always went about it with something close to the amount of attention, enthusiasm, and worship he deserved, being who he was. Jack idly stroked Rhys's hair, thrusting forward in his mouth a little bit, seeing what he could handle. Rhys hummed softly, swallowing around Jack’s cock again. Yeah, this was working out just fine.

“Tim, baby, -ah- you mind rigging him up for me?”  
  
“Hmm?” Rhys hummed, looking up at Jack questioningly.

“Gonna make sure you can’t ah… try anything too _dangerous_ here, pumpkin, is that alright? You’ll get a free collar out of it.” Jack explained, running a reassuring hand through Rhys's hair. Rhys nodded a bit too enthusiastically. 

With that, Tim walked off briskly to go fetch that complementary collar, stuffing his still-stiff dick back into his pants.

“God, baby, you look so pretty like that, so good for me,” Jack murmured, hands petting Rhys's hair as he held the other man’s cock in his mouth, lazily teasing and massaging at it with his tongue. He let out a muffled hum, needy eyes gazing up at Jack. “Look so good with your mouth stuffed like that, princess. A good little cockslut for Handsome Jack, aren’t ya? Mm…”

Tim re-entered the room. At least, Rhys assumed he did, but he kept looking up at Jack with obedient puppy-dog eyes as the smug CEO kept up praising his good work, nodding at his body double. Tim knelt behind Rhys, gently looping a Hyperion-yellow collar around his neck, cinching it to a comfortably snug fit, and securing it with what sounded like a padlock. Whenever Jack thrusted forward, the collar seemed to tighten just enough to feel good and snug. Tim set about threading ropes through the collar’s D-rings, lacing them gently around Rhys's bare chest, his hands gentle on Rhys's skin as they lovingly turned Rhys's slender chest into a picture-perfect piece of rope model art.

“Hands behind your back, kitten,” Tim ordered gently. Rhys obliged, and Tim began coiling the rope around them, binding his wrists tightly but not uncomfortably. He gave Rhys's arms a good firm tug downwards. “That uncomfortable or no?”

“Hmm-mm,” Rhys hummed, “no.” Perfectly fine. He liked where this was going. Certainly, his dick agreed, anyway. 

Tim was finished binding Rhys up and stood back up to admire his handiwork. Soft black ropes snaked around Rhys's mismatched arms and framed his lithe chest just about photogenically. Tim prowled around Rhys to take in all the angles. 

“Nice work, Timtams.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Mmm... you wanna get started on his ass?” Jack asked, looking at Tim. 

“‘Course I do,” Tim grinned. 

Rhys hummed against Jack’s dick again, eyes darting to Tim, then back up to Jack. Shuffling, Tim shed his pants, freeing his erect cock with an impressive bounce. He positioned himself behind Rhys, broad hands coming down to gently cup Rhys's delicate hips. He ground his dick against Rhys's ass, before carefully pushing the tip in with a groan. “Shit,” Tim cursed, shutting his eyes. After settling into Rhys, Tim rocked his hips, starting to thrust in and out. Rhys's hole was still plenty tenderized from the earlier encounter with the statue.

Jack smirked dangerously. It was like his birthday had come early. Not only did he have his cock in the mouth of a sexy young twink, his body double was starting to go to town on said twink’s ass. He felt like a God. There was one man in the universe who could get away with setting up such a vulgar scene and that man was him. Rhys had been so unquestionably obedient, so goddamn submissive, almost obsequious. Downright worshipful, as he should be.

Tim rocked his hips against Rhys, fucking in and out of him at a gradual pace. Rhys let out a muffled moan from behind Jack’s dick. If he wasn’t restrained, he’d be jerking himself off right now. Instead, his cock just drooled a slow drip of precum, his body hungry for pleasure.

Jack hummed, beyond satisfied with the scene that was playing out before him. “Man… look at you two, huh? Am I the luckiest man alive or what?”

Tim continued to fuck into Rhys, caressing his hips as he thrust in and out. He definitely felt a sense of power, even if it wasn't entirely based in reality. He wanted this kid to want _him_ , damn it. Maybe if he gave him a good solid fucking he’d see the appeal. Gradually, he picked up the pace of his movements, fucking into Rhys a little harder. He had a point to prove, he was just as good as Jack. 

“C’mon, kitten, keep being good for me. You like that, huh? Yeah, that’s right, baby, you’ve got such a cute little a-ass, shit,” Tim’s tone faltered from confident to gentle, and he could barely bring himself to degrade Rhys at all, even though he knew he was supposed to. As much as he kind of wanted to, deep down.

After observing Tim for a while, Jack decided that he would definitely be jealous if he didn’t get a shot at fucking Rhys himself. He wasn’t going to make his body double stop though. No, he wanted to be inside Rhys at the same time. He’s pretty sure the fanboy would go for it, too. Why _wouldn’t_ he want to get fucked by two Jacks at the same time?

“Alright, mouth off me, kitten,” Jack commanded, waving his hand dismissively. Rhys pulled away from Jack, his jaw somewhat sore from accommodating Jack’s impressive girth for so long. “Good job, kiddo.” 

Jack pushed himself off the chaise, casually strolling over to stand beside Tim. Man. Rhys looked good with an ass full of Tim’s cock. Still, he couldn’t let Tim have all the fun.

“Ya mind moving back a bit, Timmy?” Jack asked, nudging Tim slightly.

Tim pulled out of Rhys, shuffling aside a bit. Smirking, Jack hummed, pushing himself inside. Rhys could swear Jack felt bigger as he ground back against him, swallowing his length to the hilt and moaning a breathy, desperate “ _more_ ,” overwhelmed with the need to be filled up inside. After a couple of slips and false starts, Tim pressed his tip inside too. Rhys moaned _loud_ as his hole was stretched wider, desperately grinding downwards for more as the two Jacks pressed his naked body snugly between their chests, their hands holding him firmly in place _._ This whole night had been like some crazy dream come true. He could hardly even fathom the concept that was being fucked by two Jacks at once. Not that he could fathom all that much other than the ideal dick capacity of his ass at this particular moment, which was, as far as he was concerned, “as much Jack as possible.”

After adjusting to the feeling of being inside Rhys, they both began to thrust, slowly but surely as to not entirely overwhelm Rhys just yet. Jack was beyond thrilled with the way this was going. Every little detail was just perfect, it was proof of just how powerful he was. Handsome Jack always gets what he wants. Rhys? Rhys was definitely what he wanted. He was the most perfect little thing Jack had seen in a while, sweet, cooperative, curves in all the right places, a pretty face...yeah, Rhys was good. Jack grabbed tightly to Rhys, thrusting into him. “C’mon, baby, talk to me,” Jack groaned. If this kid really was a Handsome Jack superfan, almost certainly he’d have some stuff to say.

Rhys was in heaven. Really, he’d been too distracted by the feeling of having two fat cocks inside of him, everything a blur of pleasure and adoration for his hero. Heroes? There were two of them, after all. He assumed it was the real Jack that had asked him to talk, though the lines had begun to blur somewhere. Did it actually matter anymore? Still, he’d so as he was told.  
  
“Jack… ah, y-you’re my hero, this is such an honour, sir, such an honour…” Rhys babbled.

“I’m everyone’s hero, babe! I’m Handsome goddamn Jack! Tell me more.”

“This is a dream come true, thank you, Jack, ah, thank you…”

“More, pumpkin, c’mon…”

“I adore you, Jack, so much, so so much, I’m so grateful to be here, sir…” Rhys moaned, whining at the feeling of the thrusts. “You’re so powerful, so incredible, ah…” 

Jack, of course, already knew how amazing he was. It didn’t hurt to be reminded, though. Handsome Jack was a God. He deserved to be worshipped. The words of admiration sounded so good coming from Rhys, too. 

“Jack, ah! Please, Jack, more, I love it, sir, mmnh.. So big, ah, it’s so big...”

“Tell me more about this biiiig cock, baby.” Jack purred into Rhys’s neck. “What makes you think you even deserve this, huh?” 

“I dunno, Jack, you seem to like-- ah!! Oh, fuck do that again, please.”

“Earn it, then, you pitiful little cocksleeve.” Jack thrust into Rhys _hard_ as he spat out his insult, eliciting a moan from Rhys so loud that surely the whole party could hear it.

“Please, sir, please, ah, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you,” Rhys whined. “Please, Jack…”

Tim knew the words of praise weren’t for him. Not entirely. Again, if he let himself go just a little bit, he could slip into the persona and pretend he was being worshipped. It was a little disappointing, however, that the young man wouldn’t praise Tim for being who he truly was. Nobody cared who Tim was without the persona. It was exhausting to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, but if it got him a sweet piece of ass like Rhys and adoration, albeit imaginary, it worked for the time being. 

Thrusting harder, enjoying the feeling of his cock against Tim’s inside such a neat little hole, Jack leaned in to bite and suck at Rhys’s soft, pale neck, marking the man up as his, making Rhys moan. Satisfied with his work, Jack tilted Rhys’s chin up, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. He’d already decided. Rhys couldn’t be a one-time thing. No, he was too good to let out of his grasp, he’d _have_ to become a permanent fixture in his life. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer, though judging on how well behaved Rhys had been and how much he was moaning, begging, and praising Jack’s name right now, he’d certainly agree anyway. If he worshipped Jack as much as he said he did, being kept around as a pet would be a no-brainer, right? Right. He was a genius.

Sweat dripped down Rhys’s back, strands of hair falling in his face as the two men thrust in and out of him, practically ruining him with their cocks. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last, his shaking legs felt like they could collapse at any moment now. He’d already been through so much tonight and this entire scene was just so, so overwhelming. What was real and what was probably fake had dissipated a long time ago. He was living out a goddamn fantasy right now, the world around him didn’t exist. All that mattered were the two Jacks fucking him, ruining him, making him _theirs._ Which one was Jack? Which one was the double? Who even cared? He was a goddamn mess of pants and moans, his cock leaking pre-cum, whimpering whenever one of the Jacks would hit his prostate. He felt like he was being utterly destroyed in the best damn way possible. Jack’s hands pressed into the skin of his slender thighs, then moving to grab handfuls of his round, plush ass, then leaving his skin comparatively starving for touch as they reached out to explore the bare, tanned skin of his body double’s lean, defined rear. Rhys would have loved another chance to do the same.

The pace grew merciless after a while. Rhys was being stretched wide open by the Jack’s impressive cocks, their powerful hands gliding over his body and gripping at him like he was a possession. He felt weak, being used like this. The two Jacks seemed to toe a line between working in choreographed harmony and trying to prove which one was the more dominant of the pair. Either way, Rhys adored what was going on as he moaned and whined, rocking his hips against the men that claimed him. Rhys begged, desperate little repetitions of the words “ _please”_ and _“Jack”_ as he unravelled. He couldn’t think straight, he was so overstimulated. Everything was a pleasure-laden daze of Jack, Jack, and more Jack, it was all that mattered right now and quite possibly all that would matter ever again.

Rhys couldn’t get all the attention. Tim looked so damn good with his pretty face all done up in a concentrated, blissful manner that Jack couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss his body double, Tim reciprocating with a satisfied moan as they began to make out. Rhys whimpered desperately at the attention suddenly being shifted away from him. Still, he couldn’t complain. Not at all, he was in a state of overwhelming euphoria from being fucked, pressed between their impressive bodies as they kissed. Jack had such an all-consuming need to feel worshipped, that he was perfectly content like this, making out deeply and passionately with the mirror image of his own face, a carbon copy of his own cock stuffed tightly next to his own, his hands gripping tightly against broad, fit shoulders exactly as wide, firm and toned as his own. After a while of shamelessly indulging in himself, Jack pulled away from Tim, planting a small, somewhat condescending kiss on the side of Rhys’s flushed, slack-jawed face. “So good, so good, your cocks are so big, hah, fuck….” Rhys babbled, unable to form full sentences by now. He didn’t much care that Jack had been ignoring him once he felt the intensity with which he fucked him when he was doing it. He seemed to slip away from the idea of fucking Rhys, the person, and more to just using Rhys’s body as it sat, warm, horny, and enthusiastically receptive, between him and his oh-so-handsome reflection made flesh.

Jack moaned loudly, tightening his grip around Rhys in a decidedly possessive manner. He rocked his hips against Rhys, his breathing growing sharp and erratic. “Ah, fuck, kitten…” Jack groaned. “I’m gonna cum,” he warned, moaning loud shortly after as he orgasmed, fucking Rhys hard as he shot his hot load into his ass. 

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Rhys was pushed over his own edge. “Jack, Jack, Jaaaaack--” he yelled, the sweet wave of pleasure finally crashing over him, his legs almost threatening to give out as his cock squirted what felt like a gallon of pent-up cum. Well. That was about the most intense thing he’d ever experienced. 

Of course, it wasn’t quite over yet. Tim reached his own limit for the third time that night, finishing inside Rhys with a very loud moan. Tim was a mess of pleasured sounds and pants as he rode out the afterglow, pulling out of Rhys, a trail of cum following his cock. Goddamn.

Jack, too, pulled out of Rhys, admiring his and Tim’s handiwork. Before them was an entirely fucked out, exhausted man, cum still leaking out of his ass. They’d really done a number on him. Jack can’t help but grin. Oh, he definitely hadn’t lost his touch, he still had it. 

Rhys smiled goofily, cheeks absolutely flushed pink as he composed himself, trying to steady his breathing and return to reality. That just happened. That really just happened. In his blissed, fucked out state of euphoria, he was beyond exhausted. He’d long ago lost track of which man was the real Jack and which one was the body double. It didn’t matter. They were absolutely incredible and he’d submit to either of them at the snap of a finger. He was blissed out of his mind right now, even with his now sore and exhausted legs and marked up neck. He’d call in sick tomorrow.

“He’s quite the sweet little plaything, isn’t he, Timtam?”

“Definitely,” Tim agreed, smirking. “You wanna keep him around?”

“Obviously. It’d be a waste to lose him.”  
  
Rhys shivered. They were talking about him like he wasn’t even in the room. Perhaps realising that, Jack suddenly turned his attention to Rhys. “Hey, kiddo. What's your name, anyway?"

"It's Rhys," he offered softly. 

"Rhys," Jack echoed. "Rhys, Rhysie. Nice name. You're Hyperion, right?" 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. I am. Middle management. Data mining.”  
  
“Well, consider this your promotion then.”

“What’d you mean?”

“Look at your collar, kitten. Tim, go spring the lock for him.” Jack said, pulling a bobby pin out of his still-mostly-coiffed hair. So _that’s_ how it stayed so neat.

Rhys sat still while Tim popped the hairpin into the safety padlock and gently unbuckled the collar, handing it to Rhys. He examined it, the yellow patent leather, edged with black, the shiny silver-plated fittings, the diamond-studded lettering on the front spelled out “Jack’s” in the official Hyperion font. A little rectangular charm on the front bore the Hyperion H on one side, and “Property of Handsome Jack” on the other.

“The letters come off if you’re not a diamonds kinda guy. Just gotta--” Jack explained, but was cut off.  
  
“No, I like it,” Rhys said, looping the binding back around his marked-up neck. "Always wanted to be yours."

**Author's Note:**

> i had a hell of a lot of fun working on this with deadnation666! i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as we did writing it!- hyperionmade  
>   
> This has been a fantastic collab and I look forward to working with hyperionmade in the future, hopefully!- DeadNation666


End file.
